Never so much as today have I paid careful attention
\nto the
\nlight of the january sun. Strong
\nbut delicate. Elusive
\nbut
\nlasting. It neither burns nor shivers.
\nIt is neither dense nor clear. The
\nlight
\nof the sun in january:
\nsuch is our enduring love
\nhidden by the ink of the days it just
\npeers in through a gap
\n(a distraction from the clouds)
\nto light up and to burst out
\n(never so much as today have I entreated
\nthe wind to give it
\na flying chance).
\nOur love is january:
\neven if I deem it forgotten
\nI know
\nit will always come forth.<\/p>\n
Fresh Bread<\/strong><\/p>\n to Pedro Mexia<\/em> Botox \u00ae<\/strong><\/p>\n My hands are sought by a woman An autumnal emergency<\/strong><\/p>\n The colours of the baked open apple Deception to the rule<\/strong><\/p>\n To sit down and see
\nSlave of what comes up I write it
\nbecause it happens (the poetry malaise:
\nI wish poetry on no one). What
\ndo you scribble on paper when you are buying a pen?
\nSomething like \u2018the metaphor
\nresists the metonymy’ or
\n\u2018the day will come that simply talking
\nwill be poetry’? This
\n(excuse me)
\npoem is one possibility:
\npoetry is in such things
\n(fresh bread)
\nuncover it.<\/p>\n
\nin her forties
\nrequesting the delay of autumn that falls on her tired
\neyes: ‘only want to lose ten years’. And
\nI probe what bitter taste may have lingered
\nto have her wishing to punish
\nsome ten years of her life –
\nand find myself regretting not being able to delete memories
\nonly wrinkles
\nand fine lines (slightly
\nmarked ruins). In the pitfalls of time
\nnobody falls by mistake:
\nskin can’t be purged by the decade but at best
\nline by
\nline.<\/p>\n
\nin the last throes of summer anticipate in the palate
\nan autumnal emergency.
\nIt’s an invitation for home
\nthis apple I wounded and whose torso I sprinkled
\nwith c \u00e9zannes<\/em> of cinnamon.
\nUnderneath the tanned skin (its
\ncolour a sinful-yellow) the
\ntaste is perennial. See just
\nhow naked they lie
\nthe robes along the plate
\n(like the clothes of indecorous girls trailing
\non the floor).<\/p>\n
\nothers passing by is
\nmy favourite exercise. It’s entertaining.
\nIt’s not draining.
\nIt’s for free. In this counter-game of mine
\nit’s for the others to pass
\n(I entrust to the others the task
\nof passing by). I wash my feet of it.
\nI write from the inside of life.
\nIt may even seem that thus I
\nwill be going nowhere but who
\nis willing to go
\nto the place where others go?<\/p>\n
![\"joo_lus_barreto_guimares2\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/12\/joo_lus_barreto_guimares2.jpg\")
<\/p>\n![](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/12\/capa-poesia-reunida-150x150.jpg\")
<\/p>\n